Undying Embrace (20 page)

Chapter Eighteen

“What, no hug and kiss for the male who saved your ass?” Enrique’s voice crawled up Markus’s spine and inflamed his nerve endings. Markus dug his heels in and stopped outside the door to his chamber. Christ, of all the people who could have come to his rescue, why did it have to be the one person who would relish receiving his reward? And demand it. “You’ve been avoiding me, Commander,” Enrique said, his voice growing closer.

“I’ve been…occupied since my return.” Markus turned and faced his second in command.

“Ah,” Enrique lifted his chin. “With our newest member of the colony?” He grinned.

“Among other things.”

“I’m sure.” He lifted a dark brow. “The Enclave female is the only reason Marguerite has agreed to let you live. That was a very foolish move, Markus. What would have happened to your pet should you have died?” He tsked. “I would have thought more of a former Enclave warrior’s strategy skills.”

Markus grabbed Enrique by the front of his shirt, whirled, and shoved him hard into his door. With his fangs nearly chewing at the other male’s face, Markus bit out his reply. “Marguerite may not be happy with me right now, but never forget who has the power here to grind your ass into the ground.”

“Fuck.” Enrique groaned, and his eyes darkened. Rough hands found their way under the gap in Markus’s shirt that had pulled from his jeans during his tirade. He pressed his hips into Markus’s. “I love it when you do that.”

Markus snatched his hands off the vampire and lurched back. “I’m busy.”

“You owe me.” Enrique closed in, eating up all of Markus’s personal space.

Shit.
He didn’t need this now. This was the first hour of downtime he had since he’d returned. Marguerite had wanted to be sure she’d re-marked her territory and her dominance. “It’s been days, Markus.” He leaned in and stroked the not-interested package between Markus’s legs. Markus clamped his hand hard around Enrique’s wrist. The vampire stilled, his stare resolute. “What do you think Marguerite would do if she learned of a betrayal that went much further than a lack of communication? One—let’s say—that had her commander placing the needs of another female before hers.”

A deep rumble came to life in Markus’s chest. His fingers dug into Enrique’s hair, and Markus drove him back into the door again. The male slammed into the wood with a
humph
. Enrique had the nerve to smile.
Bastard.
With a hard jab to the handle, the door flung open, and they stumbled inside.

Markus yanked Enrique to his chest and proceeded to rip his shirt down the center. Enrique sucked in a ragged breath. His eyes blazed with lust. Markus tore into Enrique’s remaining clothes, not giving a shit if his nails scored the other male’s flesh. Markus needed his sanity gone. He didn’t want to know or remember how far down this path he was willing to go to keep himself and Alexandria alive. In fact, a part of him was scared as hell to find out.

“Fuck, yes!” Enrique moaned. Naked and bleeding from the scratches to his body, Enrique dropped to his knees. In a matter of seconds, he’d freed Markus’s shaft. The violence of their encounter had managed to harden Markus’s cock. Enrique’s hot tongue bathed the ridge of his erection. Markus flinched, then reached down, sinking his hand back into Enrique’s hair. Tugging hard, he pulled him away and onto his feet.

“You don’t get to suck my cock, slave,” Markus snarled. Enrique hissed, his own hard cock jutting between them. “You wanted to fuck.” Markus seized Enrique by the arm, spun him, and pushed him face-first against the wall. He palmed his erection, stroking it as he moved it into position between the folds of Enrique’s ass. The male groaned, the sound muffled next to the wall. “So…we fuck.”

…

Twenty-four hours. Arran checked his watch for the fifth time in the last hour. Yep, that’s all it had been. Felt more like a fucking eternity.

He dropped his arm back to his side and leaned against the exterior brick facade of Alexandria’s building. David should have been there ten minutes ago. Arran thrummed his fingers against the rough surface of the wall. Maybe he’d changed his mind. Hell, who could blame him? David had gotten a chance at a new life, and here they were asking him to dive back into the same shit he’d just escaped. Yeah, he wouldn’t blame him at all if he’d told them all to kiss his ass.

A black four-door pickup with tinted windows turned the corner and rumbled into the parking lot. A few seconds later, the Dodge Ram rolled to a stop in front of him, the oversize chrome rims sparkling under the bright streetlights. The passenger door opened, and out stepped the same tall, skinny kid he remembered from only a couple of weeks ago. But this time, instead of wearing fear and despair like a cloak, the kid greeted him with a smile.

Arran pushed away from the wall and sauntered down the sidewalk toward David. “Well, I’ll be damned. You did show.”

“I told you I would.” David glanced up and held Arran’s gaze. “And like someone else I know, when I give my word…I mean it.” A huge grin spread across his mouth, showing off a wide row of straight white teeth.

With a slap to his shoulder, Arran pushed him toward the door. “Get inside.” He smiled. It felt strange, smiling, the muscles awkward. But it wasn’t David’s fault his heart felt squeezed too tight to beat.

David chuckled and made his way toward the door. Glancing back over his shoulder, Arran gave a quick nod at the dark windows of the truck. The engine revved once, and then the Dodge pulled forward and back onto the road.

Inside Alexandria’s townhouse, Arran led David across the wood floor toward the den where the rest of the team waited. As they stepped into the room, Kenric and Guerin stood from the couch.

“Everyone, this is David.” He stepped aside, putting David front and center. The young vampire pulled his hands free of his jeans pocket and extended his palm first to Kenric.

“David Monroe,” he said as Kenric slid his hand into David’s palm. After a quick shake, David moved to Guerin, repeating the process.

“Please, have a seat,” Kenric said, motioning to the two vacant chairs to the left of the couch. David took the one closest to Guerin, who’d seated himself beside Kenric. Arran flipped the chair around next to David and straddled the seat, resting his arms over the back.

Once everyone was back in place, Arran finished giving the remaining introductions of Logan and Emily, who sat facing them on the other side of the coffee table.

“So, David,” Kenric piped up first. David’s gaze swung toward the Enclave’s Master. “Arran tells me you’re on board with helping us to retrieve one of our team members from Marguerite and Markus’s lair.”

David nodded. “Whatever you guys need me to do. If I can make a difference, I’ll do what I can.” He shrugged. “I ain’t got nothin’ to lose. And if I can return the favor to Arran here in the process…” David looked to his left, giving him a self-conscious smile. “I’m good with that.”

“Sounds good to me as well,” Kenric said. David turned back, his gaze sweeping the table.

“What do you need me to do?”

“First,” Arran said. “We need to pay a visit to the vampire who doesn’t know it yet, but will be the one to return the prodigal son to his fold.”

A half hour later, the team arrived at Wicked Ways. Arran pulled up to the bar with David next to him. Kenric and Logan lingered in the crowd behind them. David grabbed the vacant bar stool to his right and hoisted himself onto the seat and put both of his palms on the top of his thighs. He rubbed them up and down on the denim material, as if he couldn’t keep his hands dry. Arran leaned close, so that the music wouldn’t drown out his words.

“You sure you’re okay with this?”

The younger vamp nodded. “Yeah. I’m sure.” He glanced around the room, then shrugged, both hands going to the bar. “Just kind of strange being back here.” Arran could only imagine. He had to give it to him. The kid had guts.

Guerin, Logan, and Kenric joined them at the bar. Emily had stayed behind at the apartment, per Kenric’s request. She didn’t like it much, but Kenric had promised to keep her informed of what went down. Gabrielle’s disappearance had to have brought back painful memories for her. And from what Arran could tell, during the last two years, Gabrielle and Emily had become very good friends, so the waiting and not knowing had to be hell on her as well.

The bartender with the buzz cut made his way over to their side of the bar. He propped both hands on the edge, his knuckles clenched tight along the wood rail. The veins on either side of his thick neck bulged above his white T-shirt. The flesh running the length of the veins looked puckered and scarred. A Calix. It figured the former master would put his most loyal eyes and ears out front.

The human smirked. “I thought the boss made it clear that you were out of here.”

“We need to talk to your boss,” Arran replied. When buzz cut sneered, Arran placed both palms flat on the bar and leaned in. Fangs dropped into place, and he was sure that fire swirled around his pupils. “Now.” The single word, laced with compulsion, hit the man’s brain and rocked him back on his heels. He recovered his balance, and his gaze held Arran’s for one confused moment before he nodded.

Arran stepped away from the bar, and David slid from the stool. Arran glanced over at Kenric and Logan, signaling with a nod for them to follow. They headed in the direction of the kitchen door that would take them back downstairs and to Jean-Claude’s office. Another male stood as sentinel at the entrance. Everyone came to a halt. The guard looked toward the bar, the large diamond stud flashing in his right ear, competing with the glare of his bald head. Arran followed his gaze just in time to catch Buzz giving the guard the go-ahead for them to proceed.

The trek down the stairs was a silent one. It was clear no one wanted to admit out loud this might be their only hope. Especially within his hearing range. This had to work.

Next to him, Arran caught David’s flinch. His jaw was locked tight, and he kept his eyes away from the paraphernalia lining the walls. They were passing through the dungeon.

“This is where you met Markus?” Arran asked, his voice soft.

David’s head darted in Arran’s direction. “Yeah. He never actually
touched
me…like the others. His taste seemed to go more for the females. But he was definitely the one in charge. And he definitely had a taste for the lifestyle.” David took a long, deep breath. “It was here where I saw the symbol on Markus’s back that’s like the one you have on your chest.”

With Kenric in the lead, they rounded the corner heading toward Jean-Claude’s office. However, they didn’t need to proceed the entire distance. Jean-Claude stood with his shoulder leaning against the doorjamb, his office door open.

“I heard I was expecting company,” Jean-Claude said with a sardonic grin. “To what do I owe the…pleasure of this visit?” JC straightened and stepped back into his office. Arran guessed that was an invite. Of sorts.

Kenric went in first, followed by Guerin, Logan, and then Arran, with David pulling up the rear. The former master had positioned himself behind his behemoth desk.

“We have a proposition for you that I believe you’ll find quite to your liking.” Kenric lifted the corner of his mouth and pivoted, parting the three warriors behind him. David eased forward. The master of the Enclave rested his broad hand on the thin rail of David’s shoulder. “How would you like your territory returned?”

Jean-Claude’s eyes widened. His body slowly lifted from his chair, his fingertips the only thing supporting the weight of his torso as he leaned over the surface of his desk. “What the hell are you getting at?”

With the calm and calculating demeanor of a true master, Kenric settled himself into a chair before continuing. Lines of frustration and stress deepened on JC’s face. The former master was about to blow. “Get on with it, vampire,” he spat. “If you’ve got something you think I’d be interested in, I suggest you speak now.”

Kenric leaned back in his chair, his palm going to his five o’clock shadow. He cocked his head at Arran and nodded. Arran braced his hands on the male’s desk. JC met his glare.

“You want your colony back,” Arran began. “We want our team member back. It’s as simple as that.”

“And how do you suppose we both get what we want?” Jean-Claude bared his fangs with a hiss.

“Our friend here”—Arran reached out and clutched David’s upper arm—
“
has agreed to be your peace offering to Marguerite and Markus for your…indiscretion in allowing us the use of your facility.” Jean-Claude’s gaze jumped between Arran and David, sizing them up. “You get David into the heart of their lair”—Arran grinned—“and we’ll do the rest.”

Chapter Nineteen

The former master of Fairfield couldn’t have jumped any higher at the opportunity.

“Let’s do this.” David clapped his hands and rolled his shoulders. It was a strong show, but Arran could tell by the strained look on his face that the kid was scared as hell.

Arran dipped his head and lowered his voice. “We won’t let you be in there for long.” The young vamp glanced up, anxious brown eyes meeting Arran’s. “I won’t let you down,” Arran whispered. A slight nod was David’s only reply. With his lips pressed in a tight seal, David rolled the sleeve of his light blue shirt up his right arm.

“Each of you will take from me, right?” David looked from Arran to the other three warriors in the room.

“That’s right. But only a small amount,” Arran replied. “That way once you’re in place, we can follow the trail of your essence and phase to your location together. We’re going to need the element of surprise.”

David rolled his sleeve one last time, and then lifted his wrist in offering to Arran. “Do it.” A smile lifted one corner of his lips. “I want you to kick their asses.” He rolled his gaze from Arran to the rest of the team. “Promise me.”

Guerin stepped forward, moving next in line beside Arran. “That’s one promise, kid, I don’t have a damn bit of trouble making—or keeping.”

“Nor the rest of us,” Kenric said, followed by an affirmative from Logan as well.

Arran clutched David’s wrist. The strong beat of his pulse thrummed under his fingers. His fangs lengthened. David’s wide gaze held his as Arran lowered his head. The warrior stopped, hovered, and glanced up. “I promise,” Arran vowed and sank his fangs.

He was not going to let David or Gabrielle down. She would be in his arms tonight, and Markus and Marguerite would be…

Dead.

…

Eight. Nine. Ten.

The toe of Elle’s shoe touched the wall, bringing her to a halt. “Ten feet.” Damn, the room seemed smaller than that. She groaned and plopped onto the foot of her twin bed. It was official; she’d gone stir-crazy.

With no windows to break and the door locked from the outside, there was no way out. She’d tried, using every item she could scrounge in an attempt to pick the damn lock.

Elle glanced down at the wrinkled dark green cotton blouse she’d put on at least three nights ago, maybe four. She’d lost count. It was filthy, and she’d give anything for a real shower and clean clothes. The room did have a bathroom, but it consisted of a toilet and a sink. She’d washed the best she could, but it was a sorry excuse for a bath.

A key rattled in the lock. Elle stood and rounded her bed, going to the other side of the room. She’d eaten yesterday, so it shouldn’t be Christian back so soon.
Was it Markus?
She hadn’t seen him since the night he’d turned her. Not that she was aware of, anyway. She scanned the room for about the hundredth time for something she could use as a weapon. Nothing.

The door swung inward, and Markus glided into the room. His gaze zoomed to the corner where she stood. He looked every bit the commander of Marguerite’s colony in his black, form-fitting trousers and cobalt blue silk dress shirt. A lazy smile appeared on his lips. But that’s where it ended. His dark eyes carried none of the faux pleasantries found on the rest of his face. The eyes staring back at her lifted every hair on her body.

Complete and utter emptiness.

She shivered. It was as if she could hear the last cry of help from his soul as it spiraled downward, lost in the inky depths.

“You’re looking well tonight,” he said, pushing the door closed behind him.

“What do you want, Markus?” Her heart ran wild in her chest. Pissed her off. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. But the memories of what he’d done to her wouldn’t leave her alone. Not with him here, standing with her in the same room.

His procession into the room didn’t stop at the door. He kept coming. Shit. Why hadn’t she gone to the other side of her square box? She could have at least gone inside the bathroom and slammed the door on him like some scared girl in a horror movie.
Ugh
. Even the thought of reacting that way didn’t sit well with her stomach. That wasn’t her. She’d been transformed against her will, but that didn’t mean she’d lost everything that was innately Gabrielle Stevens. The human version had never given up. And neither would the sequel.

Standing in front of her, Markus suddenly reached out and brushed his fingertips along her cheek. She flinched and jerked her face away from this touch. “Don’t,” she hissed.

His fingers curled inward, and his arm dropped back to his side. “Yes, you two are definitely sisters.” Maybe she was imagining things, but she could have sworn those dark, empty pits that were his eyes brightened for a split second. But it was gone so fast; she shrugged it off as stress playing tricks on her mind. “Being a vampire becomes you, sweet Elle.”

“Like I had a choice?” she spat. “Why would you do this to me?” Elle shook her head, her voice one notch above a groan.

“Decisions had to be made. And this happened to be the best option.” He pivoted away, twisting the ruby-studded gold ring on the pinky of his right hand.

“Best option for whom?” She flung his words back, and Markus ground to a halt.

“Your sister.” He whipped around, irritation written on his face. “You enjoy the fact she’s still alive. Or am I wrong?”

“What are you saying? How does kidnapping and turning me into a vampire keep my sister alive?” The man was seriously touched in the head.

“You’re a vampire so you couldn’t be traced.” He marched closer and lifted his hand, his fingers going for the side of her throat. Jumping back, she ruined his attempt at contact. A brief scowl twisted his features, and he lowered his hand. “Actually, this is
your
fault.”

“My fault?” She couldn’t keep her jaw from dropping. “You truly are mad.”

He shrugged. “If you hadn’t decided to go ahead and fuck your Enclave warrior and allow him to sample you, you might still be human.”

The offhand mention and reminder of Arran jabbed like a dagger into her heart. Did Arran’s heart ache as deeply for her as hers did for him? She bit into her lower lip, doing her best to keep it from trembling.

“But then again,” Markus lifted one black brow. “Marguerite wouldn’t be quite as pleased as she is now.” His lips formed a grim line. “My return was not going to be without punishment for my error. This way,” he said with a lift of one open palm, “I get to keep your sweet sister, and Marguerite…well, she gets the pleasure of having the Enclave’s pet female to play with for an eternity.” He leaned in, and she forced herself to remain steady. Intimidation would not win out. Her throat worked at swallowing the dry lump sitting in her esophagus, but it refused to budge. “You see,” he said, in a slow drawl, his breath hot on her cheek. “It’s the perfect plan.”

Dear God. A shudder ran through her. He was right. She could never allow Marguerite to murder her sister. Not if she held the power to stop it. Even if it meant her own freedom, or her life.

“Now.” He pulled back and then took hold of her upper arm with a jerk. Elle struggled against his tight grip. He wasn’t hurting her, but she hated being manhandled. He didn’t give an inch. “It’s time for you to meet our mistress. She’s been waiting for you.”

He led her by the arm from her small quarters. Markus nodded to the male who must have been standing guard outside her door. At a brisk pace, he took her down a short corridor lit by a few white sconces on the wall. Part of her was grateful to be out of the confined space. Her other half realized that her life was about to become a living hell. The knowledge settled like a ship’s anchor in the pit of her stomach, making her legs feel like dead weight.

How was Arran, or the Enclave, ever going to find her like this? She had no clue where she was.

“Wait!” She planted her heels. Markus ground to a halt and tossed her an exasperated glance.

“What?”

“I want to see my sister first.”

“She’s fine.” Markus tugged on her arm, but she dug her heels in harder. She needed to see Alex. Had to see her. She could get through this if she knew with all certainty that her sister was safe. Alex’s mind might not be her own, but as long as she was alive, there was hope.

“No. I’m not going anywhere until I see for myself.”

“Elle,” he growled as his grip tightened. “This doesn’t have to be unpleasant.”

“Alex,” she insisted. Her pulse surged, and her fangs elongated, stinging her gums. He could do whatever the hell he wanted to her, but she
would
see her sister.

Frustration drew deep lines across his forehead. His jaw ticked. “Five minutes,” he dictated, his voice deep and gruff.

Nearly dragging her, he led her up the flight of stairs from the basement. Two steps from the top, a male dressed in loose white slacks and a matching white short-sleeved polo appeared in the doorway, bringing them to a stop.

“Commander, pardon the interruption, but there is someone in your office who insists on speaking with you.”

“Not now.” Markus tugged on her arm and began to move.

“But, sir.”

They brushed past the minion. “Sir. Your visitor is Jean-Claude Desportes. He is quite insistent that he speak with you, now.”

A low rumble vibrated off Markus’s chest. “Fine! I’m heading in that direction anyway.”

From what she could tell, Marguerite occupied a large home. Make that a mansion. Markus weaved them through two corridors lined with soft cream walls and glistening marble tiles dressed by massive white pillars at each end, then past a kitchen that would make Gordon Ramsay, the famous chef, weep. It was a shame that the majority here probably never ate real food.

They neared the front of the house, judging by the two large stained-glass doors and the round foyer that loomed up ahead. Markus slowed his pace and stopped before a set of French doors.

“In here.” He rocked his head in the direction of the closed doors. Markus grabbed the handle and opened them. She peeked around and saw Alex sitting on a window seat, staring out into the night. Stepping aside, he allowed her to move farther into the room. “As you can see, she’s fine,” he reiterated.

“That’s debatable,” she said, not taking her eyes off her sister. Something like a snort came from behind her as the door clicked shut, followed by the
clink
of a secured lock. She didn’t know why he insisted on bolting them inside. Even if she and her sister made a run for it they wouldn’t get far with all of Marguerite’s guards looming at every corner of the mansion.

Elle leaned back against the cool glass and wood. Her sister hadn’t moved an inch at the bay window. She doubted Alex even knew she was in the room. Elle pushed herself away from the door and headed across a portion of the exposed pale hardwood floors in the direction of her sister. Brilliant oriental rugs covered most of the floor space, and built-in shelves lined with books filled the walls around the room, along with various displays of period weaponry.

Elle joined Alex on the bench. She itched to wrap her arms around her and tell her everything was going to be fine—she would make sure of it. But based on her last experience, she knew Alex wouldn’t tolerate her touch.

An explosion of voices and chaos sounded outside the library doors. Elle jumped to her feet. Her pulse strummed through her veins. The sound of breaking glass and cries for backup echoed through the walls.

Arran and the Enclave
.

It had to be them. Elle swung back around, facing her sister. “This will work, Alex. Somehow, we’re going to get you back.”

A second later, Markus materialized in the center of the room. Before she could draw a breath, he was at her throat. A large clawed hand encircled her windpipe, the tips of his nails biting into her flesh.
Holy shit!
Elle went to her tiptoes and gulped for air. Both of her hands sprang to the one threatening her next breath. A small trickle of air squeaked past his hold.

“This is not how the game will end, sweet Elle. I do have the advantage,” Markus breathed at her ear. “Alexandria. Come to me.”

Elle rolled her eyes left, then right, but she couldn’t see what was happening. But judging by the shift in Markus’s stance, Alex had moved to his side. A loud crash brought Elle’s gaze forward. Her heart lurched behind the wall of her chest. But was it joy or fear that had her pulse racing? Arran stood before her, feet braced apart, his dagger drawn and aimed straight for Markus’s head.

“No!” Elle tried to yell, but the word came out more like a shrill. Arran’s gaze switched to hers. “Please. Arran.”
God. No
. She diverted her eyes in the direction she believed her sister stood. “Alex.” If Arran killed Markus without him releasing Alex… Elle’s mind whirled. From the lack of oxygen, or desperation? She didn’t know anymore.

“Think about it, warrior,” Markus said. The ominous timbre of his voice clenched her stomach.

“Gabrielle.” Her name sounded tortured rolling off Arran’s lips. “How do I…”

…

Every neuron in his brain screamed,
Kill the bastard.

The muscles in Arran’s arm twitched, aching to release his dagger and claim vengeance. But the look on Gabrielle’s face, and her desperate plea… Fuck! She was his. And Markus had hurt her. His gut cramped. What in God’s name should he do? He couldn’t—wouldn’t lose her. Yet, he could see it in her eyes: she would choose her sister’s life over hers.

A rush of air stirred the hair at his neckline. Arran tensed, and then a sudden blur of movement came out of nowhere. A body slammed into his and sent Arran careening sideways. He stumbled, regained his balance, and spun back around. Logan was on the ground. In the very same spot where Arran had been standing. Blood ran in a steady stream and pooled beneath his torso. Son of a bitch. Marguerite stood over Logan’s body, one clawed hand extended, drenched from the tips of her nails and up beyond her wrist with the warrior’s garnet essence.

Logan had saved his life.

Marguerite cocked her head in Arran’s direction, her long raven hair swaying at her hips. A sadistic smile played on her red lips. “My, you are a treat for the eyes, warrior,” Marguerite crooned, swaying the rest of her body in his direction. “It’s a pity I’m going to have to kill such a fine potential fuck.” She tsked, shaking her head. Her British accent treated each word as if she’d just spouted a national address.